A home which maybe never was
by Nasabeast
Summary: The word 'Hiraeth' has no true translation, its meaning so intrinsic to the people of its origin that the words of another language could do it no justice, ever since Harry had heard its meaning he had identified with it, was it possible that the unfortunate mistake which ripped away all he knew could actually be the one thing that filled the hole of longing in his being. HP/NR
1. Preview

**A/N this first a/n gives a rough idea of my first thoughts when i was bouncing this idea around in my head.** **Systemic abuse leading to super strong magic, harsher war including capture by Belatrix and torture for a month under daily crucio, surviving only through stupidly high pain tolerance and occlumency, Harry goes through veil after having joined the department or somfink?**

 **Gets to avengers world, helps a bit in the manhattin battle and then chills about for a while, gets an invite from ya boi fiwry to stay at the tower, they didn't see what he did during the battle, they think he is just some weak kid and are kinda shitting on him when he is by the door, black widow** **especially** (ill be honest and say this actually developed just from thinking about the rant that i might write, but has changed into something more in my mind.

 **Harry walks in as widow says something which majorly offends him, like saying he must be weak blah blah never seen anything remotely dangerous and just interesting to fury. Harry btw looks 18 still bc he is Mod. though he would actually be 31 bc Timelines!, id like to devel a BW/HP delio. urmmm what else... oh! there wont be any magical re aprearing wizarding world, this will probably stay just marvel cinematic, but might discard the later firms besides cannon facts bc chaos theory. This story is based around the concept of 'Hiraeth'**

One of the great mysteries of the wizarding world along with; Where things go when they are vanished? How the land of Avalon disappeared? and Why the 'great' Albus Dumbledore was obsessed with muggle confectionery? Is the Veil of Death, reportedly older than the ministry itself, it has been used as a method of painless execution for centuries, there were many questions surrounding the legendary artefact, Where did the bodies go? Who created it? How did it come to be in the deepest parts of the ministry?.

With the mystery of course came the researchers, over the 300 plus years since the ministry's inception many wizards had dedicated large swaths of time to unravel the myth behind the veil yet no one had made any real headway.

Voices had been heard from beyond the veil, through various trials it had been established that those who believe in the after life most strongly are the ones who hear them, the runes coating the crumbling stone arch had ancient Nordic derivations though they didn't match any known languages exactly, and no knowledge of their purpose had been discovered. One unspeakable (which is the name for the rather infamous workers of the department of mysteries) had at first glance thought the 'black curtain' which hung in the vale looked more like an old torn cape than a curtain but had quickly dismissed the thought as it was explained to him what was known about the object. These two facts (the only real information) about the veil were practically undocumented and the thoughts of the random unspeakable had never been spoken aloud in the first place.

Had the workers of the department of mysteries kept a better order to their notes then perhaps they might have had a better idea of what had happened to the newest recruit to study the gateway, if all of the ideas had been gathered together in one place, maybe they could have figured out what had actually happened when their saviour distractedly tripped and stumbled in to it, but alas it seemed that Harry Potter, The Man-Who-Conquered was lost to the wizarding world forever.

 **A/N this is more introductory than anything, felt like uploading it anyway**

 **Thanks comodo(** randomnumbers) **for the spot with the paragraphs, hadn't even noticed it while typing on my laptop but it looks gross on mobile.**


	2. Differances

This will be the ch which goes in to the differences between cannon hp and tbh while trying to write this i was thinking about ALevels and Memes so... #Whenuwalking, Felt like doing a small 1k word update, no real content, just character rambling, i feel bad for anyone following this story as i wont be updating much at all, its gonna be real slow on progress.

A normal story might start with something like 'When Harry Potter woke up that morning he didn't expect -insert dramatic even here- to happen' but waking up requires going to sleep, and sleep was a concept that the last Potter had given up a few years ago. Waking up screaming was not something he enjoyed and so, when half way though his travels across Asia in search of other Parseltongue speakers, he had heard of a sect of Buddhist monks in Tibet who had removed the need for sleep by meditation he obviously went to find out if there was any truth behind he rumours. Consequently this journey begins with our protagonist slowly returning to the world of the aware from within the depths his mind.

Groaning Harry forced his protesting limbs out of the locked position they had been in for the past four hours, knees uncrossing from underneath him he attempted to shake some life back in to his legs. Harry waited until any pain had stopped and he could feel the comfortable, deep emerald carpet between his toes before trying to stand having learned his lesson from the many times his legs had still been asleep and he had fallen flat on his face after a couple of steps. Now on his feet Harry glanced around his 'bedroom', though classically called that his private space had no bed in it. Where one would be instead was the thick rug he had been sitting on and a scattering of large cushions for relaxing.

Harry's eyes moved on from the floor across the room to the large grandfather clock which ticked steadily away, the only noise which could be heard besides his slow breathing. 4:30am, the usual time he began his day. It was earlier than most but he had always been an early riser, it was a survival technique he had kept from his childhood. He had learned very early on that the day would be much much worse if breakfast wasn't ready for his Uncle by the time he came down stairs. It would surprise some just how much of Harry's upbringing he still carried with him, even now nearly two decades on there were things which Harry just did unconsciously from his days at Number 4 Prison Drive. As Harry walked from his room down the few flights of stairs to the kitchen he forced his magic throughout his body. Originally it checked for injuries and pains which would trouble his during his chores, then during his hazardous years at Hogwarts and the war that followed it had kept his worse injuries from killing him. However considering the most dangerous thing he had done in the past month was drunkenly fall up some stairs his magic found nothing to heal. It wasn't a practice that he actively needed as much as he once had, but it was something he had done every morning he could since he could remember and was a tough habit to break. It is probably one of the main things which kept him alive during some of the worse weeks under the Dursleys 'care'.

Harry was adamant that he was making progress in his efforts to move past his earlier conditioning, as he wasn't surprised that his preferred breakfast of scrambled eggs on toast was ready and waiting for him, and that he wasn't expected to make the food for others before himself. His food was made exactly to his liking by Kreacher, who had continued to serve him loyally after the war as thanks for the completion of "kind Master Regulus's" final order. Even when he had transformed the dark and dank Grimmauld Place in to the clean and modern bachelor pad it was today, the grouchy house-elf hadn't complained and now kept the tastefully decorated mansion in immaculate condition. Though that might have been due to the extraordinary lengths Harry went to after the war to find all of the Black relics which had been 'cleaned up' first by Mrs Weasley and then by Fletcher. All of which were now kept in displays in the library with notes on as much of their history as he could find. Those that knew a 15 or 16 year old Harry Potter would be shocked at his actions but now the world knew him as a renowned explorer and historian, who after developing a passion from researching his own family had done more than any other wizard alive to preserve magical history and broaden the horizons of the British Wizarding community.

As he sat there eating his breakfast Harry's mind wondered back to who he once was. Though he hadn't really aged physically since that night in the forest Harry could barely recognise himself, his most distinctive features had all either vanished or changed significantly. No longer were his piercing killing curse green eyes hidden behind the clunky jam jar glasses of his youth having opted for muggle lazer treatment when it had become readily available. His hair while still uncontrollable was cut and styled to make it look intentional. The most obvious change however was his clear forehead, the famed lightning bolt scar had vanished. After any remaining dark magic had been purged the wound had managed to be closed cleanly. Unfortunately this couldn't be done for his other cursed scars from the war and basilisk, or the myriad of damaged tissue marks along his back as they had been left untreated for too long. Luckily the Phoenix tears which flowed in Harry's blood combined with his body's unnaturally strong healing magic meant he received no adverse affects from them.

Harry hadn't actually seen those scars for years however as he had glamours placed over them which remained active even when knocked unconscious. They were a finicky bit of magic, he had altered a traditional glamour charm so that it would be powered by his passive magical output. He had even managed to fix some of the failings of the more common glamours, like skin to smooth to be real and a slight blurred quality which can be seen when its placed on large areas. He managed this using an Ancient Greek trick he had found while researching the fascination with sculpture which had branched through both the Muggle and Magical aspects of their civilisation. It had allowed the Greek wizards to adopt the looks of their deities yet still keep their own chiselled muscle tone. Harry was quite proud of the body his casual quidditch playing mixed with extreme defensive training had given him. While he would still be considered 'small' by most, he was toned and sculpted in ways that most wizards never managed, and most witches greatly appreciated.

Harry knew though that his appearance was one of the smaller differences between who we was now compared to who he had been in his youth. The abrasive naivety and brashness which had radiated from his younger self had gone, washed away by the pain and grief of war, instead there was now a quiet confidence to him. A self assured nature which came with age and experience, and no one could deny that Harry had experienced a lot in his life.

The war had changed after his capture, the hope that had been lost from his disappearance had altered what the light had fought for. No longer was it good versus evil, people were just trying to survive. Many had died during the month he had been held, friends lost forever. Even more perished in the months between his escape and the final battle. The death which hit him the hardest however had without a doubt been Ginny's. Her throat slit before his eyes, simply because he loved her. That had been his first kill, He had taken down her murderer without a second thought. It hadn't been his last kill either, on that day something had changed within him, the final innocence of a first love was gone and any mercy which he had managed to keep after his imprisonment had left him.

By the end of the war, people on both sides had learned to fear him, those who had been loyal in the extreme to Dumbledore feared he had gone dark. They were right to an extent. He had fallen for a time in too blinding rage, killing any masked death eater he came across. He was not alone in his quest for vengeance though, during this time he had found company in George who, after the death of both his twin and sister had turned his creative genius away from pranks and towards combating the death eaters every move and helping with the hunt for the final horcruxes. By the time they had all been destroyed, ending with the diadem in the room of requirement, the duo had become some of the most notorious fighters to ever stand up too Voldemort.

The final battle too had been gruesome. Hagrids death in particular had stuck with him to this day and would likely stay with him for the rest of his life. Torn literally limb from limb by a giant at the very start. It had shocked everybody. The vicious skirmish that followed had lasted hours, students, aurors and death eaters falling en masse. Harry hadn't counted how many enemies had fallen to his and Georges vengeful fury that day, but it was probably more than anyone else, including the dark lord himself. The had carved their way through the tide of death eaters, werewolves and giants until they reached where Tom Riddle was battling Madeye. The battle scarred mage was tossed aside by an unknown spell just as the pair reached him, and it was then the future of the wizarding world was decided.

The duel was surprisingly short, it wasn't the great spectacle lasting for hours that Dumbledore's final stand against Grindelwald had been. Yet it was said to be more impressive and deadly than any duel before. Great whips of fire sprung from Voldemorts wand, incredible feats of transfiguration and black magic were flung towards the Boy-who-lived, but with George protecting his back from Death eaters, Harry countered and responded in kind, intricate and deadly spell chains flow towards his foe. The clash was so saturated with magic that though it lasted only a few minutes the ground around them cracked and the grass was burnt away. A silent beam of pale green light was what ended it, cast with such intent it charged the air around them, then suddenly there was silence as the feared dark lord collapsed dead to the ground. A puppet whose seven strings had finally been severed. What remained of his forces scattered quickly thereafter and the dead were laid to rest the days that followed.

What had happened next was three years of gruelling work. Splinter cell after splinter cell emerged, all wanting their share of the power vacuum, naturally as the now christened 'Man-who-conquered' Harry had been expected to lead the charge against them all, but slowly as the months and years passed his righteous fury had waned and the horrors he had been subjected too and subjected others too caught up with him. There was no switch that had caused Harry to stop fighting, no trigger which had sapped his motivation, just one day he decided not to leave Grimmauld Place, and then the next day he decided the same. Days turned in to weeks and weeks in to months. He had wasted away for nearly three months inside the dark walls of the Black residence before George practically kicked down the door.

Harry was sure that George could barely recognise him. The powerful dark wizard killer had vanished, left was the broken shell of a man. Pale and anaemic he was sitting on a couch drunk out of his mind trying to forget the horrors which invaded his mind at every opportunity. George once again served to be his saviour, He had dumped his semi conscious body under a cold shower and left him to sober up. What followed that freezing awakening was weeks more of recovery and grieving, but he managed to heal with the help of the twin less ginger. It was after he was back to a healthy condition and stable mind that Harry had begun the next chapter of his life.

It was almost exactly four years after the final battle that Harry walked in to Gringotts Bank. Motivated by the shock of his two childhood friends announcing the conception of their first child. It had been a wake up call, peoples lives were moving on around him. If he was honest with himself it should not have been such a big surprise, they had married over two years earlier and we're living in their own home not too far from the burrow. The announcement had alerted him more than anything to the fact that though he might not be ageing physically, time was still flowing just as quickly around him.

His goal with coming to the bank that day had been to get a solid grasp on what his financial situation was so that he could easier plan his future. It was the first time in his life he had had the time and energy to actually take stock of his place in life and Gringotts seemed like the best to start. And start he did, meetings upon meeting were held with the appointed manager of his accounts. First to go over the reparations which had been paid years earlier and then to take a more general consensus of his vaults and belongings. The results had been unexpected to say the least, in the aftermath of the war the wills of the fallen had been proceeded and he had received many a bequeathment from families he had never hear of let alone met. As such there were many heirlooms which now belonged to the potters which had little to no documentation of their history.

While going through the pages and pages of items which had only a name, brief description and sometimes title, He found his interest piqued. He had wanted to know more about the heirlooms and also the people who had owned them previously. This interest developed over the year that followed in to an obsession, which then grew again in to a career. Much of the work had been dull and slow, a nice change of pace from his life up until that point. And the payoff of finally piecing together the story behind a plate, sword or wand was immensely satisfying.

Though much of the history behind the items took hours of pouring through dusty reels of parchment in the basements of ancestral british manors some had taken him much further afield, trips across the globe in search of answers left him with contacts in many places, contacts which became very handy when after he had completed his initial project of accurately documenting the history behind the contents of his and the black vaults and had even written a short academic paper about the connections and conclusions he had come too, (this done at the insistence of Hermione and George who had both been fascinated by his findings) he transitioned into freelance historical research for familie the width and breadth of the world. At first working from Grimmauld Place as a hub before later leaving Britain entirely taking only a tent, a trunk expanded to ridiculous proportions and his trusty house elf.

Harry grinned slightly thinking back on the near decade which followed his decision to leave Britain. There had been many close scrapes searching through tombs and temples previously undiscovered for artifacts and scrolls which documented the ancient history of the wizarding world. During that time he had traveled with many different experts and adventurers and learnt what he needed to survive in some of the harshest climates of the face of the earth, and on occasion deep below it. His magical repertois had expanded greatly, and though he had never allowed his combative skills to drop significantly, he felt he could now boast an understanding of wards, runes and other more esoteric branches of magic which far outstripped the average witch or wizard.

He had also during that time written a series of educational books on the various civilisations he had researched. The popularity of these books hadn't caught up to him while he had been away but when he had returned nearly a decade later having had next to no contact with anyone besides the remaining weasley's and his publishers he had been quite shocked by his new public image. And he had returned eventually. Though he would always look back on that time in his life fondly, towards the end of his travels he had felt a need for stability and comfort. The continual unrest which came with a life had become waring and he had longed for some consistency in life.

His return to the UK hadn't been easy, so much had changed since he had left. The entire feel of the magical community had changed. The raw wake of the war had faded and the surge of industry and progress which so often follows tragedy had emerged. New trade was blossoming and the streets of magical Britain were flourishing, and so too was the population. He had of course been kept up to date on the various offspring that his classmates had conceived birthed but it had still come as a shock when he was confronted with the fact that all of his peers had children who were either in hogwarts or about to go.

.

Ch still not done, about 1 or 2k added.

do some research in uk for a while then leave to travel abroad learning world history for nearly a decade, learning cool shit, but with barely any contact with home, then come home and get job in unspeaks which will take us to present. Then next ch he will be falling, finding and maybe if we are lucky fighting. I think my math is right on the timeline, but if someone wants to check thats cool, im thinking, 98 voldie dies, +3 makes 01 when he collapses socially, back on feet in late 01, done with british shit by start of 03, back late 2011, falls through early 2012, avengers set summer 2012? Is pretty tight but i think it fits. Harry would be 32 ish? But look 18.


End file.
